


little creatures

by horsedivorce



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Dragon AU, Dragons, Eventual Smut, Hypnosis, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Shapeshifting, Spells & Enchantments, This Is STUPID, hubert does most of the talking, hubert's a dragon, talk of eating men whole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22764793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsedivorce/pseuds/horsedivorce
Summary: ferdinand is a knight and hubert is a dragon that he must defeat to save the princess. it doesn't go as planned.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 5
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote this but i did. hopefully will get multiple installments, i find this concept a little funny

The Vestra Gulch, where knights of his Majesty dared venture and seek to slay the  _ Vestra Obscenity _ . On an unseasonably warm spring day Ferdinand von Aegir found himself at the mouth of the ravine, two silver lances and a javelin at his hip, his trusty steed by the name of Scéla leading him. He also stowed a few elixirs in his leather pouch; his hand reached into the pouch and thumbed the corks and fragile glass. He had many, actually, and an array of provisions. He knew the dangers of confronting the Vestra Obscenity. He knew the tales of countless men forfeiting their lives to save her Highness—time and time again. But Ferdinand was confident. He was a knight like no other—he’d bet. He was well-liked, wealthy and academic, women flocked to him, his lineage predated even the legions of serviceable men to his Majesty’s army. And his lineage was one of the endurable ones, in his opinion. 

He tugged at Scéla’s reins, the steed stuttering a whinny but she relented and stopped. Ferdinand smirked and tangled his gloved hand into his mare’s mane. “What do you think, Ela? This Vestra Obscenity—it is probably not as perilous as many men profess it to be.”

Scéla ignored him.

“Her Highness is no doubt petrified sequestered in that beast’s lair,” Ferdinand continued, pumping his other hand that gripped at the reins, “I will rescue her! Even if it means—”

Ferdinand hesitated. He knew the valiance of his actions, knew that bringing her Highness back to her castle offered him with such incredible bounty. It was worth every bead of sweat and blood, every tendon and every muscle, his whole heart even. But was it worth his life?

“—even if it means my life!”

He urged his steed forth, determination burned anew at his breast and he grinned a prideful grin. 

The craggy walls of the gulch climbed higher and higher into the sky as he and his steed proceeded deeper into it. The spring sun still burned at noon, right above him. He adjusted his helmet, sweat beading at his forehead and upper lip. Many of his fellow men suggested additional armor venturing into the gulch. And, though he prepared for a skirmish in any way he saw fit, it behooved him to drudge along extra protection. In fact, he reveled in the heaviness of metal and chain mail, the secureness of the maille and fabric gambeson underneath his armor. But, by Goddess, it hardly breathed. He shifted in his saddle, suddenly uncomfortable. Scéla whinnied again, but Ferdinand tutted and patted a condolence. He should not lament his attire—his steed was right! There was a princess to save. 

He picked up the pace, the distant sound of rushing water sputtering his ambition afresh. He would defeat that beast, save the princess, bring peace to the castle and his Majesty, the emperor. And the added coin… perhaps even the lordships surrounding his family’s dukedom. His fellow men would be proud, no doubt! And the plethora of doting women…

A crow squawked overhead. He glanced at the carrion creature, scoffing; other crows joined the solitary one, perching on a naked larch. Ferdinand frowned. The crunch of twigs and moss underfoot became snappier, more material. He glanced down and noticed dull ivory… Ferdinand blinked. No, they had to be the beast’s meals, dead elks and unfortunate boars. Yes, indeed, his steed stepped on the bones of creatures—not men. Regardless, from the stories Ferdinand heard, the beast enjoyed swallowing men whole; but not before toying with them like a feline would to a mouse, snarling laughter as its prey ran around clueless. 

Scéla trotted on, her gait unhurried and assured. Ferdinand could learn from his horse, she had the confidence of dozens of men including himself—Ferdinand was unafraid to admit. But her confidence verged on arrogance; his fellow men always had a word to say about his humanizing horses. But, considering the way Scéla basically strutted in her gallop, shook her head haughtily if too much was requested of her, his horses had personalities and Scéla’s strength of character saved him from trouble in the past. 

Crows littered every forlorn and rickety tree, ogling him like fly-infested carcass. The walls of the ravine also curled to block out the azure sky and the sun’s burn. A cold breeze swept through him, cooling his heated skin. Vines sprawled the ravine’s walls, connected and jungle-like. The ravine continued to cool the more he traversed; it counted as a blessing, in any other case, but Ferdinand knew the dipping warmth only spelt trouble. He grasped at his lance firmer, his determination once more springing hotly in his chest. 

The rushing water deafened him now, the stream flowing freely between his steed’s hooves. The crow’s cawed dwindled, and the sounds of the forest silenced. It was close, the Vestra Obscenity. Ferdinand breathed in deeply, prepared for the duel of a lifetime. 

A low, threatening hiss reverberated through his helmet, emanating from deeper into the ravine. Its serrated shrill graduated into an unutterable snarl. Ferdinand clenched his jaw tightly closed, peering around him. A gravelly voice spoke, leaning languidly on its sibilant tones, “what is this? Another useless knight—disturbing my peace?”

Ferdinand shakily breathed out. “Show yourself, beast. I am not afraid of you!”

“Silly, minuscule boy,” it stomped somewhere Ferdinand could not see, trembling the earth and frightening Scéla. Ferdinand’s first lance splattered into the stream, both hands clutching at his reins in order to rein his mare in. “I’ve heard worse promises—from men bolder than you.”

Ferdinand quickly reached for his second lance. He bared his teeth. “I said, show yourself!”

“Look at you…”

The groan of leathery, scaly skin cocooned him; Ferdinand had no clue where to look. He stood firm, however, and brandished his lance, spurring Scéla to trot in circles. This damned beast loved its games! And whatever game it had commenced, Ferdinand would not yield. Not for her Highness!

“You have no idea. The princess,” it  _ chuckled _ , its sound worse than its cavernous hiss, “would laugh at your weakness. Look at you!”

“You have no right to speak for the princess, you beast!”

It chuckled again, booming now as if the beast knew of its desecration and laughed at it! Ferdinand strained to see in the enshrouding darkness but no matter the way he pulled his steed, he could not see the beast. Did this beast employ some dark magic? To elude his vision? Ferdinand tried, again, to yank at his rein; he tried to capture the beast in his orange eyes. But, no such luck, Scéla grew utterly restless. Ferdinand, in his consternation, yanked too hard and Scéla bucked him off. He fell heavily onto the stream in a resounding splash, crushing his arm under him. He cursed and reached for Scéla but—she ran off in the other direction. 

That blasted steed! He cursed and scrambled to his feet. She took his leather pouch, his remaining javelins, and left him with two weapons and a half-bottle of elixir. Scéla was a stubborn mare but he believed, when it would come down to life and death, that she would have at least stuck around—shared their heroic demise and everything. Or even ran away together, like proper cowards! He should have not trusted a horse. Now, he had only himself against some nebulous beast. The promise of coin, prestige, and women seemed like an ebbing probability. Maybe he should drop his weapon and follow in his steed’s perfidious steps and run away. But his pride would not allow it. He had to at least seek the princess and save her from such a dreadful beast!

“Look at you.” It repeated, closer at his ear. It compelled gooseflesh and the hair at the back of his neck to stand. 

Ferdinand brandished his weapon once more, no longer courteous to his life. He would rip out its eye, cut off its tongue, inflict as much damage as he could possibly inflict. For the princess and his Majesty and country! 

“You are a boy,” it jeered, “A fumbling, little boy. Without his little lost pony.”

Ferdinand twisted his body around, catching the glint of the beast’s jadeite eyes. Smoke billowed from its nostrils, a wicked grin stretching its scarred maw. Terrifying yet... mesmeric, it overawed his senses and shortened his breath. He dropped his lance, dropped to his knees, and stared at the beast. The Vestra Obscenity stretched its long winged limbs, unfurling from its chasmic shadow. It reached one limb, the long claw of its thumb pressing against Ferdinand’s breastplate—pushing. Stupefied, Ferdinand complied, dropping to his haunches despite the cold water. 

“You would make a delectable canapé.” 

Ferdinand nodded. 

“Who are you?”

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir.”

“Delectable name.”

He nodded.

“Will any of your men join you? I enjoy a full course meal.”

“I don’t have any men.”

“No? You travelled here alone?”

“Yes.”

A hum trembled out of the beast’s throat, ponderous.

“Are you going to eat me?”

The beast retracted its clawed limb, slithering around the vulnerable Ferdinand. It opened its mouth, inhaling the creature’s scent. Its stomach whined in hunger and its tongue lolled out. 

“Good Goddess, in death, make me tasty…”

The beast stopped. “What?”

“Make me tasty…”

A snout nudged him from behind and the still stupefied Ferdinand turned around. This really was it, wasn’t it? After twenty-two years of general wealth and education, he was to die in some beast’s stomach. At least, he hoped to be tasty. He blinked at the beast’s large maw, flinched as its slitted tongue brushed his helmet. 

“Is this it?”

“No…” Ferdinand frowned, “I must… prepare the entrée first.”

Another look at the beast’s eyes and Ferdinand fell flat on his face, asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

He was asleep for an indiscernible amount of time. When he did wake, darkness overtook him and he was not so sure he really was awake. 

The small chirps of bugs and the far away drip of a stream floated heavily around him. Small bursts of color painted his vision staring into the darkness, bursts one could only see behind closed eyelids, which only coaxed Ferdinand deeper into confusion. A low hum of residual magic clung to his limbs and head, his conscience swimming in its heady mire; traces of his memory leisurely crept back to him, a faint white horse and black beast like an afterimage beneath his eyes. 

Something moved at his side; Ferdinand jolted only to realize it was his own arm. Great Goddess, he had reached for his pouch but only brushed the thin cotton of his shirt instead. He blinked. His hand continued its trajectory to his stomach, chest, his other hand joining, to his shoulders and head. And, as though his luck could be any more hapless, something had managed to unbuckle and discard all of his expensive armor beforehand. Ferdinand cursed. Without a single shred of light in this room—maybe it was a cave or a dungeon—he did not know where to search for a potential escape, or even retrieve his armor; if he crawled around, perhaps he would stumble upon rocks he could start a small fire with. He could use a scrap of his shirt as fuel, just for now and to assess the depth of the room. So, he maneuvered to his hands and knees and meticulously palmed the floor for anything. 

After a fraught while, Ferdinand finally bumped his fingers against _something_ ; it was wooden and, as his hand proceeded to investigate, he realized it was the leg of a chair. Grasping at this discovery with both hands now, Ferdinand hoisted himself up and ran his hands against the plush seat of the chair, an armrest, and a curious metal chain tied to the backrest. He tried to step in front of the chair but only harshly bumped into a larger piece of furniture—a table. He hissed in pain, holding his hurt hip, but now his confusion reached tenfold. Why was there a table and a chair in the middle—though, he could not tell that it _was_ the middle—of this room? 

Ferdinand glared through the darkness, nothing making sense. 

The more he was awake, the more pieces of that black beast came to him. He knew it would eat him, but was this part of the whole “toying with its meal” Ferdinand’s men warned him about? Had he befogged the beast enough with his tiny, simpering confession that he wished to be tasty? He just remembered that bit and a deep wave of embarrassment hit him; the Goddess had a dreadful way of playing with him sometimes. When he was just at the cusp of greatness, he _had_ to plead for his deliciousness. He could only imagine what the Vestra Obscenity thought of him, some copper-headed knight who wanted to be tasty; surely, it would go to its other beastly friends and explain the time some man _wanted_ to be eaten. What a joke, a cosmic indignity, some part of him blamed himself despite the fact real perpetrator roamed parts of the gulch, readying its three course meal. 

Suddenly, the air stagnated. The droning insects quieted like an audience to a compelling opera. Running water faded away, receding deeper into whatever recess it bled from—

The same, wretched creak of scaly skin returned, membrane-wings and arm-length claws raked the mud floor. And, as the air was sucked from the room, an exceptional snarl rumbled out of a deep and plunging chest. It glowed, Ferdinand desperately noticed; its chest glowed as did its eyes, glowed like a firebug in a summer evening. Those eyes… they beguiled him, drawing his gaze up and up from its incandescent chest to its fuming mouth and to its demoniacal eyes.

Ferdinand quickly grabbed the chair, using it as a shield in front of him. But, as he looked at the beast’s eyes again, his head swam. His grip loosened, his knees wobbled, and his body nearly caved in, before Ferdinand fluttered closed his eyes. Ha! Now, it couldn’t trick him to submission. But, it could very easily push him around—which the beast did precisely. 

A clawed hand knocked the chair out of Ferdinand’s grasp and he quickly clasped his free hands over his eyes—for added protection. But another swat of the same claws and Ferdinand stumbled down to one knee. He refused to relent, however, his hands still over his eyes. 

The beast hissed, its breath blowing Ferdinand’s hair back. 

“Ferdinand…” its voice was so close and abetting, a whisper above Ferdinand’s unsteady breathing, tempting him to open his eyes and indulge the beast. 

He shook his head fervently. “I know your tricks, beast. If you are to eat me—”

“Why do you hide your face so? ” A claw suddenly rubbed at his arm and Ferdinand recoiled violently—a full-body jerk away from the claw. The beast chuckled lowly. “This will be easier if you look at me, Ferdinand."

Ferdinand seethed. “Get away from me!”

But, with his hands covering his face, he knew how useless it would be to plead for his life. He had no weapons, no armor, no luck—nothing to save himself from the beast. It was easier to curl up into a tight ball and hope the Goddess would receive him with the most open arms imaginable. So, Ferdinand landed on his side and did just that—curled up into a ball, prayed to the Goddess, and welcomed his fate. 

The same claw from before nudged at his back, then did two claws, then three; a whole talon hand stroked his back, pulling the fabric of his shirt back and forth. Something wet dripped onto his fingers, onto his forehead, and Ferdinand grimaced as a slippery appendage dragged against his hair. It was tasting him! 

“Mm,” the beast hummed, the noise reverberating through Ferdinand’s head. Its tonguing persisted, stretched to his forehead and his fingers, back to his hair and over his ear, to his exposed neck and the skin of his shoulder. Teeth grasped at his shirt and pulled slightly, slowly tearing the fabric—

This was it. This was what his life had led up to. To curl up and accept death, an eaten-whole destiny. Ferdinand whimpered and shuddered involuntarily.

But a voice, light and amused but sharp and recognizable, sounded, “Hubert.”

The ripping stopped, the claws stopped, Ferdinand’s _heart_ stopped.

The clang of something metal followed and a repeated name, “Hubert.”

Ferdinand heard the beast crane its head away, the air surrounding him suddenly lighter. But it still held him down and Ferdinand did not want to chance a look. He knew the voice, however, and knew the absolute impossibility of it. The voice belonged to the princess. 

“Princess... what an inopportune time—” 

“Who is that?” 

She acknowledged him! But, in the state that he was in, Ferdinand hoped the princess just ignored his existence. Why was she speaking to the beast in the first place? The beast did not respond. 

“Hubert,” the princess warned. 

“He is my meal.” The beast’s claws began in earnest removing Ferdinand’s shirt but something stopped: the princess had stepped forth. 

“I thought you swore off eating men—that is, until winter—”

“I did no such thing.”

“I am sure you did. You said something about spreading your meals out to once in a while, instead of frequently—just so that no one was persuaded away from the gulch.”

Silence followed and Ferdinand presumed a staring match commenced; he was still frightened to the bone and kept his hands where they were. The beast finally said, “this one clearly wasn’t.” 

The princess laughed and, Goddess, Ferdinand felt irreparably inadequate after that. In fact, it urged him to at least glance at the princess’ direction. He spread his finger open and saw the said princess with a torch in one hand and a rusted axe in the other; her hair was pulled back and she wore simple clothes and light armor. The sight shocked Ferdinand so sharply; he was used to the royal family’s extravagant garb. But, he focused more on the armor and realized that—she was wearing one of his vambraces!

“Hey!” Ferdinand could not stop himself from shouting—to his detriment, because the beast snarled and a claw broke through skin. Ferdinand gasped; the sting of broken skin caused him to kick his legs, flail his arms until he smacked the beast’s claws off. It snarled, louder, and now used its hind leg to crush Ferdinand into stillness. 

This was not good, not good at all. If he accepted his fate before, he fully refused it now. But under its foot, there was no feasible way to wiggle out alive.

“I know him.” The princess sidled closer, eyeing Ferdinand like a scientist would to her specimen. “Ferdinand von Aegir, son of Ludwig von Aegir, correct?”

Ferdinand blinked, speechless. 

“Yes, you are,” the princess decided, “how did you get into this mess?”

“Princess, I—” Ferdinand attempted but the beast only crushed the words out of him. He wheezed, instead. 

“Edelgard.” Did the beast just refer to the princess to her first name? What in Goddess’ name was going on? His previous fear now shored on apoplexy. “I suggest you go back to the hall, I will not take long.”

“No. Let him go.”

“What?” Both he and the beast said simultaneously. 

The princess looked beyond amused. She reiterated, “let Ferdinand go, Hubert.”

“Why? He will only take you back to the castle.”

“Well, truthfully, I cannot in my good conscience let you eat him. If he were any other man,” the princess sighed, “I would let you. But my father knows his father personally, and I do not think either would be pleased to find the heir of the Aegir estate dead.”

“Your father is fine with you being here—”

“Hubert.” 

A long fraught moment followed, where none breathed or moved. Ferdinand did not know whether to thank the Goddess for the princess’ presence or question her endlessly about why the princess had such unlikely friends. What did the beast mean the princess’ father was _fine_ with her being here? Where was here, anyway? 

The weight of the beast’s leg weakened until it was off of him completely. Ferdinand breathed in deeply and shakily exhaled. Crisis averted but he had no clue what any of this would lead to. 

  
  


Ferdinand followed the princess down a long, narrow hall, a long robe the princess had somehow procured draped over his smattering of a shirt. The beast had silently retreated after the confrontation, inhaling Ferdinand’s scent before slithering away into darkness. The princess just smiled tightly at him and asked him to follow her. Ferdinand asked why she had one of his vambrace and she stated simply that the beast _Hubert_ gave it to her. 

“He likes giving me armor of the men he eats,” she explained, “it’s morbid, and a bit like a cat bringing you a dead animal, but I do not mind; he has a good eye for armor.”

They walked for seemingly ever until finally the princess stopped and cocked her head toward an archway. Ferdinand eyed it, the insignia at the center familiar but not placeable. 

“This is my room.”

“Oh,” Ferdinand averted his gaze, fiddled with the robe, “are there no spare rooms?”

“Yes,” the princess shook her head, “but they are all either Hubert’s kill rooms or full of rats; this one is the only livable one.”

“Well, I understand. But, princess, it would be improper for me to sleep here—with… you.”

“You do not have to call me princess. That does not matter here. And, get over it; if you sleep anywhere else, Hubert might go ahead and eat you—he is less amiable as a beast.”

Ferdinand frowned. Did the princess just imply…? “As opposed to... when he is _not_ a beast?”

“Precisely,” the princess nudged him with her axe, “now, enter.”

“Hold on, hold on. Why are you here? Why do you personally know the Vestra Obscenity?”

The princess huffed. “All questions will be answered in due time. Now, I will not repeat myself: enter.”

Ferdinand tossed and turned on his makeshift cot on the opposite side of the princess’ room, the low groans of this so-called dungeon (the princess had explained that it was indeed a dungeon that once belonged to a long extinct family) and the shrill cries of _something_ unnerving him awake. The day’s events, if they truly happened in one day (how long was he asleep?), flooded back into his mind. He escaped death by the skin of his teeth and now he was sleeping beside the princess—as equals. Granted, the princess slept in a large, luxurious bed (who brought that in here?) with feather pillows and silk linen, but she had asked that he call her by her first name. He tried sounding out _Edelgard_ , felt weird, and decided to just forgo naming the princess at all. This might be—still—his long-running indignity, perpetrated by the Goddess herself, once an admirable knight turned shaking leaf turned unsettled guest—

Footsteps suddenly crawled through the entryway of the room and fright seized Ferdinand totally. All right, who in the world could that be! The footsteps drifted closer and closer until they stopped in front of the princess’ room, stepped inside, and remained silent thereafter. A pair of eyes bore into him, Ferdinand could sense their gravity, but he was too numb of a fool to glance back. He heard someone scoff, then footsteps again; they receded down the hall again.


End file.
